Truce
by the classicist
Summary: Valentines Day offering. White calla lilies, coffee, and a rooftop conversation...


**A/N: Hi everyone! Here's my Valentines offering... not sure how well it's worked, because it started off with an idea of some flowers and the last line and just grew. Not completely fluffy, but please read and review! Harry, Ruth and Spooks all belong to Kudos, and, sadly, not to me x**

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Ruth has no idea how it has arrived there, on her desk. It certainly hadn't been there when she'd left the Grid late last night. But now, there is an elegant bouquet of flowers resting on her desk, bereft of even a card to tell of their purchaser. She frowns, biting her lip. Her mind runs immediately to thoughts of Harry. But why would he send her flowers? Since the enquiry, and his narrow escape from any serious punishment, their relationship has degenerated into a series of petty quarrels and curt exchanges, regularly followed by tears on Ruth's part and cursing on Harry's, both in the privacy of their own homes, of course.

Ruth sighs and glances over at his office. He is sitting at his desk, reading through some report or another, and looking entirely unconcerned. Surely, if he had sent her the flowers, he would be eagerly on the lookout for her reaction, and not buried in paperwork? She lifts the bouquet into her arms, inhaling their sweet scent. White calla lilies, all curves and gracefulness... her favourites. She can't recall ever telling him this. She can't recall ever telling _anyone_ this. But to give lilies on Valentine's Day, rather than traditional red roses, is a typically Harry-like gesture. She smiles wistfully, reminding herself, as she does regularly, that things could have been so different, if her answer hadn't been a refusal. When he'd asked, no had seemed like the right answer. But now... If she'd said yes to his proposal, they would have been married by now. He would have brought her the flowers along with breakfast in bed that morning, and they would have made plans to go for dinner this evening, in some sophisticated restaurant, where they would have talked about literature, and theatre, and politics and travel and –

"Ruth? Ruth?" Beth waves a hand in front of her friend's face to catch her attention and Ruth, who has been daydreaming pleasantly of Harry in an open-necked blue shirt, falls back to earth with a thud. Sternly promising herself to take an ice cold shower at the earliest opportunity, Ruth returns the lilies to her desk and follows Beth into the briefing room. She takes her usual seat, and has to confess to a slight feeling of disappointment when Harry, the last one to enter, having scanned the room awkwardly for a second, positions himself as far away from her as possible, rather than settling into the chair beside her. The briefing proceeds. The team discuss the latest communications reports from GCHQ, and Ruth is called upon to deliver her report on the arrival and security of the new Portuguese Ambassador. But, paradoxically, she can't truly concentrate when she knows that Harry is not gazing intently at her, or really paying attention to what she's saying.

When the meeting is over, he's the first to leave, returning to his office and shutting his door with a snap that means he is not to be disturbed. It is a quiet day on the Grid, and in lieu of completing paperwork, Dimitri starts taking bets on the sender of Ruth's flowers. "Fancy a flutter on Ruth's mystery man, Beth?" he grins as his colleague closes up her file. Beth rolls her eyes, and glances over her shoulder to check that Ruth is still in Registry. "It's obvious, Dimitri," she retorts. "It's got to be Harry." Dimitri shakes his head, a frown appearing on his face. "You know, Bailey, a few months ago, I would have agreed with you. They've always seemed like an on/off couple. But after the enquiry and all those rows..." He trails off, and Tariq takes over.

"I think it's off for good, guys," he states sadly. "Maybe Ruth's got someone on the side – ouch!" A marker pen bounces off Tariq's head, and he whips around to find Alec glaring at him. "You lot, show some respect. What Ruth does or doesn't do in her own time is nothing to do with us." None of them notice that the door to Registry has slipped open and that Ruth is standing there, frozen to the spot, feeling somewhat nauseous. Has she suddenly become an object of office gossip again? She has never been able to stand being talked about. At school, she had been wary to the point of terror about doing anything that would attract negative attention, and this has not changed in later life. Pausing only to drop her files onto her desk, she ignores Beth's look of mingled concern and regret and runs into one of the pods, catching the tears that are already trickling down her cheeks. Harry's head jerks up from his desk and he watches her leave, eyes dark with feeling.

The cool breeze on the roof acts as a swift restorative. Her panic fades, and is replaced by embarrassment as she realises that she will have to return to the Grid alone, and put up with the silent solicitude of her colleagues. The door snaps shut behind her, and she stifles a groan. She turns around, expecting to see Beth, and opens her mouth to tell her that she's fine. But it isn't Beth. Harry is standing there, wrapped in his coat, and carrying two mugs. Ruth turns back to the view, heart beating fast. He approaches boldly, and holds out one of the mugs. It's coffee, made just how she likes it, with plenty of milk. "I thought you might be getting cold," he explains gently. She smiles wryly at his concern and takes a sip from her mug.

"I just came to get some air. I'll be back down in a moment," she reassures him. He hesitates, and she half-expects him to leave her up here and return to the Grid. But he's brought two mugs... His brown eyes scan her face, and she can tell he has spotted the tear tracks there. To his credit, he does not mention them. "I know things haven't been... easy between us, since Lucas..." he begins, and she can't help but laugh. It's a short, mirthless chuckle, because things have been the exact opposite of easy, but it's enough to silence Harry. She regrets her laughter as she catches sight of the hurt in his eyes. "No," she agrees gravely. "Things have been very difficult." He steps closer, bracing his arms on the lip of the balcony, staring out over the city whose protection has claimed so many years of his life. "Did I do the right thing, Ruth?" he asks finally.

His question surprises her. She doesn't need to ask for clarification. "I think... I think you did what you thought was best, Harry. No one can do more than that." He sighs deeply, and Ruth stares into the depths of her coffee, allowing her breath to make miniature, scudding tsunamis across its surface. "But it isn't the same thing, Ruth," he insists plaintively. "Doing what I think is best, and doing what is right..." She turns to face him, blue eyes suddenly clear of the shadows that have haunted them for so many months, and she looks so much younger, almost as she did on her first day on the Grid all those years ago. "An enquiry absolved you, Harry. You were cleared of all charges."

He nods. "That was politics. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I was too valuable to the Service to be thrown to the lions. The enquiry had nothing to do with guilt, or innocence, Ruth. I want to know what you think." She is staring at her shoes and twisting her hands together, as she always does when she is in a situation she would rather avoid. "I think a lot of things, Harry. _About_ a lot of things," she evades. He smiles faintly, sadly, wondering when she became so closed up, and why. He tries again. "I want to know what you think about Albany." Ruth closes her eyes briefly, a lie all prepared. And then she makes the fatal mistake of looking at him. The few times she's lied to Harry, she's managed to avoid his eye – her proposal, the explanation of her refusal, and, even further back than that, after their dinner together, when she had blocked all future attempts at romance from him.

His eyes catch and hold her, forcing the truth from her. "I was angry," she admits at last. "Angry for a long time, because you believed that I was more important than millions of innocent people. I felt very guilty for that, Harry, even when I found out Albany was a fake. Then, the enquiry... God, the enquiry. It was hell." But _hell_ doesn't even begin to describe her feelings. The pure, mind-numbing, brain-gnawing terror that she would never see him again, never yell at him again, never laugh privately over his awful jokes again. She has to bite her tongue hard to stop herself from saying any more. He doesn't need the guilt of knowing he's caused her more pain. "And after the enquiry?" he asks softly, in that voice that has always had the power to mesmerize and draw forth secrets. She draws a deep, shuddering breath, and tells him, "I was... I was happy that you were safe. But I couldn't act as though nothing had happened. I couldn't come into work every day, and see you and forget that you'd been prepared to give up your career for me. And the arguments..."

She stops speaking, her voice silenced by the recollection of the harsh words they have thrown at each other over the past few months, and pushes back a curl of dark hair, mussed by the wind, from her face. Harry doesn't say anything for many minutes. Perhaps he is remembering too. He takes a swig from his coffee, and grimaces. It's gone cold. Like them. He sets the mug down on the balcony, and turns to Ruth. His gloved hand is outstretched. "I know I've made a lot of bad decisions, Ruth, and said a lot of things I didn't mean. But I want to start again." Ruth doesn't take his hand, and for a heart-stopping minute, he thinks she is going to run. The look on her face is unreadable.

"Alright," she murmurs slowly. "We start again. As friends." He weighs up her offer, wondering if he will be able to cope with such a distant relationship. "Friends?" he echoes doubtfully. What if, one day, she finds someone else? Someone who can love her better than he ever could? What if - ?

And that is when she smiles at him. "For the moment," she elaborates. "Anything else... will take time." His heart swells, as he suddenly comprehends what she is telling him. It is an acceptance. Not the one he wished for when he proposed, or the one he wanted to hear after their one and only date, but an acceptance nevertheless. "So," she grins, a little nervously. "Truce?"

"Truce," he agrees firmly and shakes on it. They laugh as their hands meet, a bridge across the divide of so many years.

_No more quarrels_, Ruth promises him silently.

_No more missed chances_, Harry vows.

They break their handclasp. "We'd better get back," she points out, checking her watch. They walk together to the roof door. Harry gestures with his arm to signal Ruth through first, but just as she places a foot on the steps, she turns back. Leaning in close, in an unsubstantial haze of faint perfume, she kisses him chastely on the cheek. "Thank you, Harry." He doesn't ask why. He knows. He has always known.

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**Hope you enjoyed!**


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